Summer's End
by kbk
Summary: At the start of fifth year, their world is changing. First person from Hermione, Ron and Harry. Some R/H, slight H/G, depressed Harry. *COMPLETE* (honest)
1. I can't believe...

I can't believe I didn't think of this before! Smartest witch in the year, my ass! Oops. If swear in front of boys while not under extreme pressure will get teased for rest of natural life. But honestly, the perfect antidote to the bushy hair that has plagued me was within reach the entire time. What was it? A pair of scissors.  
  
I can't understand why I didn't think of it before. Or wait: I can. Those noises coming from that gaggle of girls? Those are snickers. I, fortunately enough, am not the target of these particular snickers; but I'll get enough. I'm expecting several comments about "the new boy" – my body hasn't developed as much as I would have liked, and while it is perfectly acceptable for a girl my age, I'm not really satisfied. And now my hair is so short…  
  
It was the product of a late night reading Shakespeare; in particular "Twelfth Night" and "The Merchant of Venice". I began to contemplate the process of making a girl look like a man. Breasts would be bound; hips disguised with loose clothing; hair would be cut short. But in the modern- day world, girls can have short hair. I could have short hair. I went to the kitchen, found a pair of scissors, and soon enough I did have short hair. Mother nearly had a fit the next morning. She proceeded to take me to her hairdresser, who neatened it up and pronounced it to be a "charmingly elfin look". I don't want to be an elf…  
  
Now here I sit in the shopping centre on my first day of shopping for the new school year. It is "girly shopping day". This means bras. I don't like shopping for bras at the best of times, as I become hideously self- conscious and my chest seems meagre. This time was worse. Mother insisted I be measured. I agreed under duress, in the process winning myself this space of time while she finds an outfit for a friend's wedding. Normally I would be happy to go with her, but… Today I felt the need for a little space of normality. I needed to act like a normal girl – a muggle girl. And since I told my parents about Voldemort, I've practically been under house arrest. Our trip to Bulgaria was the only exception, and that was not at all how I expected it to be. Viktor was very attentive, but when I told him we could only be friends he seemed almost relieved. Then again, Vicky is an international Quidditch player – he probably has strings of girls after him. Maybe he's in need of a friend.  
  
I need normality today because tomorrow is the second day of school shopping and we're off to Diagon Alley. And, once there, we'll be meeting up with Harry and the Weasleys. And then it will all be real again.  
  
I've kept up with the news from the wizarding world, and I've written to Harry and Ron all summer (and, wonder of wonders, they've replied!) but it all seems to fade a bit when you're living like a muggle. It will be good to see them, though, and to go to the Burrow for the last couple of days of the holidays. Maybe we can get Harry past some of his guilt complex before we get on the Hogwarts Express. I worry about him, I really do.  
  
I wonder if they'll recognise me? Will they even notice I've changed? (A month! A goddamn month to see my teeth! They can see a Quaffle well enough…) I suppose the hair is a little drastic, so they'll notice that; but there are other changes, less obvious. Inner changes. A few realisations I've made that have changed my view of life a little…  
  
I only hope I can manage to look at Ron.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
I can't believe Snape gave us this much work to do. No, scratch that. I can't believe I'm actually doing the work, on my own, several days before I have to hand it in. It's not natural.  
  
She's a bad influence on me.  
  
I bet she spent the week after she got home sitting in her room making sure her essays were perfect, just so she could go visit Vicky with a clear conscience. Never mind about the friends left behind with no word on whether you were dead or alive, no, Miss Granger! Don't spare a thought for them! He goes to a Death-Eater school, and Voldemort's back – and you think it's smart to spend a fortnight in his house? Bloody hell!  
  
I will not swear so much in front of Hermione. In fact, I will swear less in front of Hermione than I do in front of my mother. 'Cause she'll nag me even more, and at least with Mum I'm out of earshot most of the time.  
  
She seems to have got back all right, though. And I'm sure it was more fun than my summer. Dad and Percy are hardly ever home – everyone at the Ministry's working flat out because of the attacks. I've kept newspaper cuttings, and it's a fair pile. But Bill says there were tons more in the old days, when You-Know-Who was powerful. So I guess, in the future, there'll be more.  
  
I know we're a pure-blood family, but we're well-known as Muggle sympathisers. And there's so damn many of us. Likelihood is, we're not all going to survive this.  
  
Percy's following the Ministry line, that YKW's not back. Dad isn't. There are arguments. Ginny gets upset. Mum starts yelling. The Burrow isn't the happiest of households right now. We'll be good for a few days, while Harry's here, and then it's off to school and I'm well out of it.  
  
Fred and George have been hiding in their den all summer, cooking up Wheezes. I envy them. Something to keep them busy, someone to talk to. Who do I have? Ginny, I suppose, but… Ginny. Maybe.  
  
Who does Percy have?  
  
For what it's worth, Harry has me, and he has Hermione, and we'll try to help him out, but he keeps on trying to be the hero and in his head the hero doesn't need help. His head is screwed.  
  
Look at me, I've gone all insightful. I must have grown over the summer.  
  
I have, actually – Mum had to let out my clothes and my sleeves are still half an inch too short. But she says I'll get nothing new until I stop growing. She might give in and get me some to grow into if I pester her enough. I really hope she does. If I don't stop growing these'll be ridiculous by Christmas.  
  
Merlin! Please don't let there be another Yule Ball. Please don't make me wear those robes again. Please.  
  
I looked like an idiot. Worse, I acted like an idiot, especially with Hermione. I think I am an idiot. I'll see her tomorrow. Her and Harry and me are going to see each other every day till next summer. Damn good. Better seeing people face to face than writing letters. Definitely. It was kind of fun, for a little while, and I can go back over them and prove that something's been said – but I definitely prefer face to face. And I'll get it tomorrow.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
I can't believe they're letting me go back. The death and destruction I have brought down upon that school and its inhabitants, albeit unwillingly, is beyond belief. And yet the traditional letter is delivered – my fifth – and tomorrow the Weasleys take me to fill out the lists.  
  
I know Dumbledore thinks the best place for me is Hogwarts: but the best person for Hogwarts is not me. He must know that my presence will act as a lure for Voldemort. I think maybe he's counting on it. Sometimes I feel like I'm one of his chess pieces. I might ask Ron what he thinks – whether there's a hidden agenda. I feel awful thinking of Dumbledore this way, he's been kindness itself to me; but he is the only wizard Voldemort fears, and I know there's a reason for it.  
  
But I'm going back, and so much will be the same and yet so much will be different. One of us died. It seemed to cast a pall over the entire castle. And things will not improve. And yet I will be going to the same old classes; and practising the same moves in Quidditch; and Hermione will drag me to the library and Ron will tag along complaining; and Ron will veto schoolwork in favour of a trip to the kitchens and Hermione will tag along scolding and lecturing us on house-elves' rights. And then I will get into mortal danger and they – my friends – will follow at my heels to help. I'm going to get one of them killed one day – I can feel it in my bones. For all I rubbish Divination, I know there's something in it; and it's telling me I'm an albatross. I would rather die myself.  
  
I would give my life for my friends – the only problem being, I'm sure they feel the same way. And they seem to think the scar on my forehead means I'm important. Means they have to protect me. Means I'm the one who has to fight Voldemort. Means I'm the only one who can defeat him.  
  
I defeated him because my mother protected me. And now that protection is gone. And I'm scared.  
  
I'm scared of being tortured again. I'm scared the people around me will be killed off one by one. I'm scared to go back there and face everyone.  
  
I'm not scared of dying.  
  
"To the well-prepared mind…" If I wasn't prepared before this summer, I certainly am now. Being left alone in my room, out of fear and dislike, used to be a nice rest from my chores. These past weeks, there have been no chores, and all I have been able to do is think. I worked for a while – my essays would do Hermione proud – but work ends. And thoughts don't. And nightmares don't.  
  
I always lose weight over the summer, but this time it's worse than usual. Even I can see that. I look in the mirror and my face doesn't make sense. One night, fresh from a Rapid-Eye-Movement display of Death-Eater atrocities, I thought I saw Sirius across the room – the way he looked that night in the Shrieking Shack. That was the mirror.  
  
I'm going to shut it all away. Tomorrow I'll be a normal fifth year. I'll be… well, not happy, but relatively cheerful. I won't let them know what goes on inside this head of mine. They can't know.  
  
The only ones I can tell are Ron and Hermione. But I won't. Not everything. I'll throw them a few crumbs and hope they're too wrapped up in each other to notice or care that I'm still holding back.  
  
I'll hope Voldemort dies of a heart-attack while I'm at it. 


	2. Diagon Alley

I was so excited this morning, I was practically bouncing off the walls – well, as close to it as I ever get – and my parents were giving me all these sidelong little looks. I know they're worried about me being in danger, and I think they're worried about me-and-boys as well; but I can't help being happy when I'm going to see my two best friends for the first time in months, now, can I? And oh, what a sight it was…  
  
We got to Diagon Alley late, because of the traffic on the way to and through London – truly awful, as always – so when we went in, we found the Weasley clan all waiting for us politely. All except Ron and Harry, who were the only ones actually supposed to be there. But until I'm satisfied Harry's all right, I'm letting him away with it; and Ron too, because he's keeping Harry company. The pair of them had wandered off to look in the window of Quality Quidditch Supplies, and I went over to them, leaving my parents talking to Mrs Weasley. I took my time, looking at them. They had both added a few inches to their height over the summer; but while Ron had broadened out a little and was starting to look almost grown-up, Harry was painfully thin. So it was Harry I went to first, and I hugged him and kissed him on the cheek because I was so glad to see him and he looked so unhappy still, behind the smile. And then I noticed Ron's face, so I hugged him and kissed him too, holding on just a little longer so I could tell him he looked good. Gracious, that boy can blush.  
  
They didn't comment on the hair. I'm sure they noticed. I'm absolutely positive they must have noticed. But neither of them said anything. I'm choosing to believe it's because they think I'll snap at them if they say the wrong thing, and they're not sure what the wrong thing is. Honestly, boys can be so dense.  
  
I dragged the pair of them off to Flourish and Blotts, with everyone else in our wake. We all got our schoolbooks fairly quickly, and then the family dispersed a little on various errands. I stayed where I was. I've always loved bookshops, and this one is just so… magical. I was happily browsing the shelves for quite some time, and it honestly surprised me when I turned around to find Ron still there. He grinned at me and told me to hurry it up, because Harry had mentioned ice cream.  
  
It was nice, walking with Ron. It sounds awful, but it's easier to pretend that everything's normal when Harry isn't there. Ron and I don't carry as many scars, literally or figuratively. He can tease me about my obsession with books and I can tease right back about Quidditch, and we can forget about the gathering storm for a few moments.  
  
We got to Fortescue's and found Harry sitting with the twins and Ginny, looking somewhat uncomfortable. He relaxed when we slid in on either side of him. Ginny, because she is a girl and as such, notices and is allowed to comment on such things, said my hair looked nice. This brought four male voices telling me that my hair was "nice", "different", "short" and "utterly ravishing" – this last from one of the twins (don't ask. I can't tell) and accompanied by as much of a bow as he could make sitting at a table with a large sundae in front of him.  
  
I should be too sensible to allow those compliments to please me as much as they did. But I'm glad I'm not.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
She had her hair cut! That's so weird. And sort of pretty. I think I liked it the way it was before, though. Oh, the way it was for the Ball… No, not even seeing her dressed up again is a good enough reason to wear those robes. But she looks so different with her hair like that, and in Muggle clothes, and… it's like with the Ball (again with the Ball! I hated the bloody Ball!) when she looked totally different and like a girl, except that she had spent ages dressing and stuff and today she hasn't. Today she's just Hermione. And very definitely a girl.  
  
She seemed happy to see us. Didn't even give us a row for not waiting by the entrance. Just ran up and threw her arms around Harry – of course, it would be him first – any wonder Mum believed Rita Skeeter? – and then she hugged me. And then, being Hermione, she got so distracted by the books that she didn't notice me standing right behind her for fifteen minutes. But it didn't take much to persuade her to leave them in favour of ice cream.  
  
But now I'm really, really confused. Because she's flirting. But she's doing it with me and with Harry. I mean, I'm sure that's what she's doing, I've… heard enough about it, but she's not supposed to flirt with both of us so she can't be. She's just being friendly. Then again, she's not being exactly the same with both of us. She's giving us different looks. The one she has for Harry reminds me of the one Mum has when Charlie announces he's off back to his dragons before she thinks he's ready, or when Bill reports in on his latest dangerous assignment and airily mentions something that's come up that means he might be out of touch. The one she has for me reminds me of… well, it reminds me a little of the one Ginny still has for Harry. And that just scares me.  
  
Speaking of Ginny, she's actually behaving like a rational human being for once. She's slowly eating the sundae Harry bought her; apparently without thinking it's a declaration of undying love. If that was the case, he'd be in love with me several times over… Not going there. It just gets on my nerves, sometimes, taking things from him. I know he wants to, I know he can afford it, I know all that. But still. I'm the poor one who gets paid for all the time. But then again, he's practically adopted my family, and if you're family then it's OK. I think he's been an honorary Weasley since before that first trip on the Hogwarts Express.  
  
I think all he really wants is family. Those Muggles don't count. At least he's got himself a godfather now – Sirius. Still haven't forgiven him for breaking my leg. I hope he's OK, though – Harry said he sounded happy to be staying with Professor Lupin, but not actually happy. Like Harry. Talking, smiling, reassuring my family, acting like your average fifteen-year-old. Like the Boy Who Lived could ever be average.  
  
The only person here who has a chance at being average is me. Harry's Harry Potter; the twins are twins; Ginny's the only Weasley girl; Hermione's incredibly smart. I'm just Ron. Of course, if I say any of this out loud my friends fall over themselves in an attempt to correct me. Apparently I am "brave" and "loyal" and "really good at chess" and many other things besides. The fact that I follow in the wake of Quidditch players and Prefects and top-of-classes and Head Boys and the two greatest practical jokers since the Marauders means nothing at all. Because I'm good at chess. Oh, snap out of it, Ron!  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
Well, I'm away from the Dursleys for another year. Strangely enough, I almost wanted to go back when we arrived in Diagon Alley. Ron knew not to ask, and Mr Weasley was preoccupied with everything that's apparently been going on. But when we got there, I had four more Weasleys around me; every one of whom looked me up and down before apparently deciding that I needed feeding and cheering up. It was just a little overwhelming. Ron got me out of it, though – declared he simply had to go see the new Nimbus, and wouldn't you like to, Harry? We walked off and the rest of them just waited for the Grangers.  
  
We all did most of our shopping, then the adults went to sit somewhere and leave us to our own devices for a little while. Naturally we ended up sitting eating, though conversation was a little strained before Ron and Hermione turned up. It's so good to feel something approaching normal – to sit in the middle of an inconsequential discussion and just watch my friends talking.  
  
I can't join in as much as I would like, though, because I would slip and say something to depress everyone. I contribute enough to stop anyone telling me I'm being quiet, and I try to choke off all the gloomy trains of thought. It doesn't really work. There are too many.  
  
Take, for example, my ice-cream sundae (which is slowly melting). The second scoop is banana flavour. Bananas are yellow. Yellow is the colour of Hufflepuff. Cedric. Voldemort.  
  
Or, for another example, take the only person here quieter than myself. The girl sitting across the table. Ginny. Two years ago, I saved her life. From Tom Riddle. Voldemort.  
  
Take a walk along the street and you will see the bookshop where Ginny acquired that diary. You will see the robe shop where I first met Malfoy, whose father did that and serves Voldemort. You will see Ollivander's, where I bought the wand whose brother belongs to Voldemort.  
  
I don't want to have to fight him because I'm fairly sure I'll lose. I'm a fifteen-year-old boy, for God's sake! And yet everyone seems to expect I will once again defeat one of the greatest Dark Wizards known. I'm sorry, but it doesn't tend to work that way. However, through no fault of my own, he holds an immense grudge against me. So I'm going to have to face him. And I will win or die.  
  
And this is me trying to keep away the doom and gloom.  
  
I will think happy thoughts. I'm away from the Dursleys. If, somehow, something happens this year to prove Sirius' innocence, I'll never have to go back there. Of course, that something would be capturing Wormtail; who, as far as I know, is glued to Voldemort's side.  
  
I wish it was over. I wish he would just Apparate onto the table right now. We could have it done with right here.  
  
Now there's an image. Voldemort with one foot in George's banana split.  
  
Maybe that's the way to get through this. I'll treat him like a Boggart. Picture him in a ludicrous outfit and shout "Riddikulus" and everything will turn out fine.  
  
If only it were that simple. 


	3. The Burrow

Oh, I do like spending time at the Burrow. It's such a homey place, but it's so different from my home. And it's nice to spend a few days with the boys when I don't have to keep them on track with classes and essays and revision for the O.W.L.s. (I'm not going to think about them until I get to Hogwarts. These are my holidays. I've done all the work I needed to and more besides. I can spend two days here without worrying at all). I can just enjoy their company – especially since Harry's finished all his work and Ron's done most of his (and all of it is reasonable and some of it is good; it just goes to show that they can get by without me, and I should let them from now on). It's also nice to talk to Ginny. I think she really misses having another girl around the place. Truth be told, I'm not much of a one for girl talk; but I've heard enough in the dorms to pass muster with a girl who grew up surrounded by boys.  
  
As for the situation with Voldemort – well. It's closer here, since it's a wizarding household – but I honestly think the Burrow must be one of the safest places in the country, after Hogwarts. I mean, it's been warded for Harry; and there are enough people to spot an intruder quickly without their being a crowd to hide one; and it just feels safe. I think it'll do Harry good.  
  
As for myself – I love my parents very much, but I'm so glad to be out of there. I'm a different person with them in the muggle world. I'm not sure if I prefer the person I am here, but I'm more used to her. And she has friends.  
  
We've congregated in the living room – if four people can be called a congregation. Mrs Weasley is visiting a friend; the twins are in their room; and Harry, Ron, Ginny and I are passing a lazy late-summer evening in varied pursuits and desultory conversation. The wireless is playing quietly in the background; Ginny's curled up in the corner armchair, writing a letter; Harry's reading a book on Quidditch tactics for the umpteenth time; Ron's pretending to read up on the Tarot in the newspaper clippings (Quidditch scores, I bet) he has hidden in his Divination textbook; and I'm just thinking, half stretched out on the floor and leaning back against the couch.  
  
It's ridiculous how comfortable and content I feel simply doing nothing in this company. It's wonderful, having friends like these, that I can just be quiet with.  
  
OK, I admit it. I'm bored. I'm going to go and get a book so I can do some studying. In a minute.  
  
They're all so still! When it comes to reading, or anything, Ron especially turns into a big bundle of restlessness. That's part of the reason I keep losing at chess – apart from the fact that he's just better. He twitches. When he's waiting for you to make a move, he bounces his foot and taps his fingers and whistles under his breath, and he asks you questions, and you can't concentrate on the pieces – which, of course, are offering their own bits of advice and distracting you still further. Maybe I should challenge him to a game. It would keep me occupied for half an hour. It would also lead to a humiliating defeat. Maybe I should just sit here.  
  
Ha! I knew it! Ron couldn't sit still either! He's flopped full length on the couch, now with a Chudley Cannons magazine held above his head. I stuck it out longer than he did. Mind, Harry has barely moved to turn a page, even, and Ginny is alternately staring at her parchment in need of inspiration and covertly glancing over at Harry. I can't really blame her, though – he's attractive in a scrawny kind of way, and the half-starved waifish look tends to bring out the mother in the worst of us. I'll just sit here a little longer, then, see if I can wait them out. And if I close my eyes, I can just enjoy the way Ron's hand is absently stroking my now- depleted hair.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
It's odd, how much more like home it seems with two people who technically don't belong here. It helps that the tension you can get away with when only family's around has now subsided. But here we are: me, my two best friends and my little sister. And it's good. I know it won't last; but right now, it's good.  
  
Poor Ginny still has a crush on Harry – I mean, three years has to be a record. She might get over it now he's a total wreck. And Hermione seems to be over her little crush too. She went to Bulgaria, she said, with her parents. They visited Vicky and his family, who were "perfect hosts" and it was all "interesting" and the country was "beautiful" and everybody was "kind". But she didn't seem too excited about it, really, and she didn't say anything about any other visits. No-one asked her, though. I would have, but Harry kicked me, and while he was unpacking he reminded me how every time I say something about Vicky it turns into a shouting match between me and Hermione, so I guess I should thank him. Good friend, that boy. He's a bit of a wreck at the moment, but we'll sort him out.  
  
I think the first thing that's in order is a good prank. I'll talk to Fred and George, see if they've got any suggestions. Something along the lines of Canary Creams, I think, but different. The girls will not be happy with me for playing a joke on poor delicate Harry, but I think a laugh's just what he needs, and he's not all that fond of seeing other people… Unless I could get the twins. They're fair targets. They would take it in the spirit intended, where the "grown-ups" would look serious and start talking about you-know, and the girls might get upset. The problem is, how to get the twins when they're the ones who taught me practically everything I know? I think I'll have to go for something classic and simple and old, something that's just so basic they won't be expecting anyone to use it. They spend their time working on increasingly more complex pranks, so if I were to simply chuck a Dungbomb in their room, they would… do something really nasty in return. Classic but not harmful and amusing to them as well as to everyone else. Maybe I'll just turn their hair green. Or one of them green and the other one purple, so Mum can tell them apart. That's a fair idea. It's not good, but I'll settle. Tomorrow at dinner, I think – unless it gets serious.  
  
I'll have to talk to Hermione afterwards, because I think the next step in sorting out our friend is going to be a long talk, and I'm no good at that sort of thing.  
  
I think she's asleep, or nearly anyway. She was just sitting there, not even pretending to be doing something like the rest of us were, and now she's leaning back with her head against my leg. It might be she doesn't want to have to yell at me and ruin the atmosphere. I honestly didn't notice what my hand was doing until she moved and relaxed back against me. Then I saw that my fingers were getting used to her new haircut. There was no contribution whatsoever from my brain. It's nice, though, and she doesn't seem to mind. In fact, I think it's what persuaded her to go to sleep in sort-of public, which I don't think she's ever been comfortable with. If she is actually asleep. She might be. She's certainly not fully awake.  
  
I could stay here forever, I think. Friends and family around me, a fire in the grate as the stars come out, semi-decent music on the wireless – safe and warm and protected from the world outside. This is good. This is home.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
At the moment, this is the closest thing I have to a real home. And it's not even mine… I can't help thinking I'm putting them in danger just by being here; but as Hermione reminded me, the Burrow has had wards put on it to protect me, and these wards will also protect the other people here. It was reassuring. It was more reassuring to see that she's still the know-it- all I met in first year – I think she went a bit girly over the summer. It hasn't been all that long, in the scheme of things, since we last saw each other; and we've been writing to each other; but she's changed. We all have. It's just obvious now because we've been apart for a while. When you see someone every day, you don't notice how they're gradually growing up. For example, I'm sure at least half of the height she swears I've gained, I actually got during the last few months of fourth year. I'm still a scrawny little runt, though, especially compared to Ron. Not that he's turning into Crabbe and Goyle, or anything – you can just see he's going to end up one of those dependable-looking people, that are tall and well-built and look like they would be able to catch you every time you fell. The great thing about Ron is he's that type of person, and he would be even if he looked completely different. The two of them are damn good friends for anyone to have. It's just a shame they're my friends – for their sakes.  
  
I decided I was going to put away the depressed thoughts for this evening, but it's not all that easy. I can't concentrate on my book, but since I've read it at least twenty times I guess it doesn't really matter. At least we'll have Quidditch this year. Unlike last…  
  
I already said I'm not thinking about that!  
  
I'm here with my friends and I'm safe for the moment, so I'm just going to sit here and live in the moment. Easier said than done…  
  
The chair I'm sitting in is comfortable, but I'm going to have to move soon. I might just go to bed – I'm tired – but then again… My chair is comfortable. My pumpkin juice is chilled. Night is falling. Wizarding music that I've never heard before is playing. The fire is crackling. The room is warm. It smells of wood-smoke and flowers, from the vase on the table. The flowers are pretty.  
  
Good grief! First Hermione turns out to be a girl, then I do!  
  
Hermione's asleep on the floor, with her head resting against Ron's hip and a peaceful expression on her face. Ron's staring at a point somewhere past his magazine, and his hand is gently toying with her hair. I would like a picture of the two of them like this, so peaceful, but I'd have to move and find a camera. And a rush to capture this moment would suggest that there won't be others like it, and that would just be wrong. There will.  
  
I should get myself a camera. It seems like something I could manage to do, taking pictures. And it's so nice to look at the pictures I have of my parents. In days to come, I think I'll want to look back at these times. I'll want pictures to remind me of the little things, and the bigger things. You can forget so much. And of course I'll want to show them off to other people – maybe even my kids, one day. Imagine – me, with kids. That's a scary thought.  
  
I wonder if my dad thought the same thing.  
  
I don't want to forget. Ever. I don't want to forget these people, my friends. With any luck, I won't get the opportunity. 


	4. Nightmares

I always have trouble sleeping, the last night of the holidays. Normally it comes from excitement about going back to school, and getting up every five minutes to check I haven't forgotten anything. Tonight, I know I have everything, so I managed to drop off fairly quickly. But once again, I am not sleeping. This time, it's nightmares.  
  
I'm not especially prone to nightmares, and I don't tend to remember them all that well – this one was at Hogwarts, and that's about all I know – so after I've woken up and then calmed myself down, I tend to just turn over and go back to sleep. Tonight, that left me facing Ginny, who was tossing and turning and crying out in her sleep. I've never had to deal with nightmares in someone else, and I didn't have a clue what to do, so I went to fetch Ron. That was a good idea…  
  
I just peeked in the door, and he was holding Harry down to stop him thrashing. I don't think he'd been to sleep at all; he'd just lain awake waiting for this to happen. I suppose it must have happened before.  
  
Deciding the best thing was just to leave them to it, I went back to Ginny's room in time to see her bolt upright. I hugged her. She started babbling about Tom and killing Harry. I must confess, I'd almost forgotten about all of that – it seems so long ago, and so much has happened since then. Yes, indeed, I forgot about the time one of my best friends and the other's little sister were put in mortal danger by an enchanted diary containing a copy of the young Voldemort. It's just not that strange a thing to happen in my life. My excuse is that at the time I was Petrified in the hospital wing, and I didn't hear about it till later. It's easier to forget a thing like that when it's simply a story you once heard while panicking about catching up on work. To Ginny, it's still food for nightmares. The things that happened to her while under that influence still haunt her nights and dog her daytime thoughts. I assume.  
  
If I listen carefully, I can hear voices from the next room. Harry must have woken up. I feel like I should be in there with them, but I don't want to leave Ginny on her own right now – she's too vulnerable. She seems so small, still. And the things that happened two years ago were an awful trial for such a little girl. Of course, at her age Ron sacrificed himself in a chess game and Harry faced Voldemort-in-Quirrell. And, of course, the three of us took on a troll. But there's the key phrase. The three of us. She's alone, more or less. She has friends, sure, but do you see any of them here now? She doesn't have best friends, and that's what makes the difference. That's what's saved our lives in the past.  
  
I could do with a female best friend, and Ginny might fit the bill. It would cause problems if she was to join our group, but I think it could help all of us. Of course, it could drive a wedge between me and the boys, and I don't want that to happen, for the sake of all our mental health. And because… Because if the worst should happen, to either of them, I don't want to be sitting in a dorm at the time, painting my nails saying, "I wonder what the boys are up to. I used to be with them all the time. Ah well." I want to be there if it happens.  
  
There's no use thinking about it just now.  
  
Oh my God. That's why he looked even worse than he normally does after the summer. He's been having nightmares – bad ones. I'm so stupid!  
  
I don't think any of us are going to get much sleep tonight. Maybe I should go downstairs and forage for some hot chocolate. It always helps me. And it'll give Ginny something to do, and it's an excuse for us to go and check on the boys. Of course, they'll probably start expecting me to be their little house-elf.  
  
I would, if it would help.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
The gasping started about an hour after we finally went to bed. The screaming didn't come for another ten minutes. By that time I'd been sitting on his bed for five minutes with my hands on his shoulders, alternately trying to shake him awake and holding him down so he wouldn't fall out of the bed. Though I probably should have let him, because that would have woken him. This has happened every night he's been here, and probably most nights over the summer, and every night between the end of the Tournament and the end of term. But this is the worst. Before the summer, the names were "Cedric", "Mum" and "Dad" in anguish, then "Wormtail" and "Voldemort" in rage. He's still angry at the same people, but he seems to have added to the list of people he's apparently seeing killed – and something weird happened at the end that I think I really don't want to know about. But I'm in there now, along with Hermione, Ginny, Sirius… But the screaming. That's new.  
  
He woke up pretty quickly after that, so I don't think anyone was disturbed. But I was kind of preoccupied at the time.  
  
I tried to get him to talk about it but he just flat out refused. I can't blame him, really, but talking's supposed to help. Mind, our big "It wasn't your fault, it really truly wasn't, so stop blaming yourself" talk did no good whatsoever, as far as I can see. The hair thing was quite spectacular, and worked more or less, but I think he went on a guilt trip for laughing when Cedric will never laugh again. And Fred and George didn't even swear revenge.  
  
So anyway. Currently sitting talking quietly about nothing in particular, attempting to avoid the many things that will upset him. Quidditch seems safe enough, and Merlin knows I've got enough to say about it – I'm now involved in a highly detailed description of the game I went to last month. "And then one of their Beaters sent a Bludger straight at their own Seeker, and man did he get bawled out for that one!" Is that my voice still babbling away? I can hardly tell. I should just shut up, it would be better; but if he at least pretends to be listening to me then that's another piece of his brain that isn't brooding and worrying about everything.  
  
Is the rest of the house asleep, I wonder? Is he the only one to have nightmares? Am I the only one to stay awake waiting for them? Is this going to keep on happening?  
  
I don't think he'll last, if this is how much sleep he gets. And of course, I won't get any either, being the conscientious friend in the next bed. He's going to have to do something about them if he doesn't want to collapse. He really is. Maybe a potion from Madam Pomfrey. It would be better if he could just work past them, but I doubt that'll happen till YKW's gone, and maybe not even then.  
  
Someone was trying to kill him. I was right at the First Task. I was such a prat to him before that, though. I don't know why he's still my friend. Maybe he thinks he'd lose his welcome here if he stopped being my friend – but more likely I'd get chucked out for not being good for and to the poor dear hero Harry Potter. Not his fault, I know – but it's easier to idolise the boy if you don't spend ten months of the year in his shadow.  
  
I've seen him sleeping, waking, eating, drinking, working, playing, laughing, crying, happy, sad, and everything in between. I know him. I know who he is as a person, not as the Boy Who Lived. I should probably tell him that. Tell him I don't care about all that stuff, and I don't care that he thinks I'm in danger because of him; that I know him through and through and I think he's worth knowing and I want him for my friend, no matter what. I should tell him that. Before it's too late.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
This time, it started with the memories – Cedric and my parents. Then my friends started appearing, trying to save me. And he killed them, one by one, and I stood by completely helpless. And then, when I was surrounded by a heap of corpses, we duelled. But Priori Incantatem happened on my wand. All these piddling little spells started pouring out. And then he used Crucio. And while I was writhing in pain, I saw him. And that was the worst bit. Because I think that was real.  
  
He was casually torturing a Death-Eater. I couldn't see who. I didn't want to see who. But as I watched, he turned away from the man, and he looked at me. I swear he saw me. I was so damn scared.  
  
Then I finally woke up, with my scar hurting – more than usual, that is. I hid it, though. Hid it from my best friend in the world.  
  
He told me I screamed.  
  
There must be some kind of spell I can do to stop anyone hearing me. It wouldn't be fair on the others, losing sleep because they have to share the room with me and my nightmares. Ron's looking tired after just a few nights of it – what would he be like after a whole school year? I may have to suffer it, but he doesn't deserve to.  
  
He's trying to distract me by telling me what he's been up to over the summer, but it's a futile task. The only reason I let him keep going is that it makes him feel better. Maybe in a little while I'll pretend he's managed to lull me off to sleep, and then he'll get a semi-decent night's sleep. I might get another couple of hours, if I'm lucky – but that means another nightmare.  
  
Why couldn't I have been normal? With parents who lived, and maybe brothers and sisters, and a godfather who was never falsely accused of murder, and someone else who actually killed Voldemort? What did I do to deserve all this?  
  
Ron's stopped talking now. But he's been replaced by Hermione pressing a mug of hot chocolate into my hand and then perching on his bed to retrieve her own. Ginny's over by the window with yet another mug, leaning on the windowsill and looking at the stars. I guess I woke them too. I try to apologise, but Hermione shakes her head at me and murmurs something about me not being the only one to have nightmares.  
  
None of us really have anything to say. We could discuss our respective bad dreams, I suppose. But none of us want to reflect on them, so we sit in silence and try to draw comfort from being in the presence of friends. It doesn't really work.  
  
Ginny sinks to the floor, pulling up her knees and still staring out of the window. Does she have nightmares? Does she dream of Tom Riddle and what he did to her? Or was it Hermione that woke up calling for her parents?  
  
Hermione's a Muggle-born. She's probably in the most danger of being victimised, now that Voldemort's returned – the way she was in second year, but worse. I wonder if she's realised? I wonder if her parents realise that they too are in danger? Muggles were killed for sport, along with intermarriages, Muggle-borns, Squibs – anything that tainted the purity of the wizarding lines… The Muggle parents of one of the best friends of Harry Potter. What a target. They're probably worried about their little girl, not realising that she can take care of herself far better than they can. It's my fault they're in danger. It's all my fault.  
  
She looks like she's falling asleep right there. And Ron drifted off almost as soon as he gave up responsibility for keeping me occupied. They should sleep while they still can.  
  
I'll keep watch tonight. 


	5. Hogwarts Express

A/N Last chapter, I'm afraid! I'm a bit sorry to see it, since this is the longest fic I've written as yet, but here it is. I might do a follow-up… won't be for a while, though. I'd like to thank everyone who's taken the trouble to review, especially Jill W for the multiple detailed and encouraging reviews – thanks a lot. And her fics are cool.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
Well, we're off to Hogwarts again. Fifth year…  
  
There don't seem to be as many pupils this time around. The platform was crowded, true enough, but it didn't seem to be as mad a crush as it used to be. And all the parents I saw looked so worried…  
  
I have to confess, I wonder what's going to happen with all the Muggle- borns. Because it wouldn't be fair just to leave them in the everyday world and deprive them of the chance to use their power; and it could turn out dangerous to have untrained witches and wizards out there; but with the current situation, acknowledging that magical talent could put the entire family in danger. It's a dilemma I'm glad I don't have to deal with.  
  
If I was just starting now, and I had to choose – I'd want to be told, for purely selfish reasons. I can't imagine what my life would have been like if I hadn't received my Hogwarts letter. No, wait – I can. Everyday subjects at the local high school, maybe a few odd things happening to me but no danger, no excitement and no friends.  
  
Speaking of friends – they're currently indulging in what appears to have become a ritual. Harry bought about half the sweeties from the cart and piled them on an empty seat. And by the diligent efforts of these two boys, the pile is rapidly diminishing. I'm surprised their teeth haven't rotted away by now.  
  
It's only a few hours away. Soon we'll be changing into our robes, and then switching from the train to the carriages. And then the first years will be Sorted (oh, I remember that. I had thought I'd be in Ravenclaw, because all I ever really had going for me was my brain. But the Hat said differently, and I'm very glad it did) and after that the Feast. I wonder if the Headmaster's speech will be serious. It should be a happy occasion, but with all that's happened… I'll find out soon enough.  
  
Of course, now we're underway I can start worrying about my work in earnest. The O.W.L.s are this year! Potions with Snape, I'm not looking forward to, but Arithmancy is nice and relaxing because it's so precise (unlike Divination – and they still ask me for help when they know I despise the subject! Honestly, boys…) and Care of… Well, now. There's a thought. Will Hagrid be back, I wonder? He should be, I'm sure, but that was never a guarantee of anything.  
  
Oh, school. I like school. I've missed everyone, and now I'm almost back and I'm so happy… I've even, possibly, a little, missed Malfoy's snide remarks – or maybe just the way Ron gets mad on my behalf. Oh Lord. The Slytherins. My hair. What am I going to do?  
  
I'm going to be calm and not worry because I like it and my friends like it and that's all that matters. And it looks good and I know it. I just hope I can remember that when we finally bump into them.  
  
We managed to avoid all that lot at the station – we came through the barrier and the six of us hopped on the train straight away. The twins went off to find their own friends after the train started, and Ginny scuttled off soon after, bless her. So it's the three of us, again.  
  
We have to stick together this year, the three of us. We can't afford to have any more big fights. I know we're not going to be perfect – I'm not that idealistic – but when we do have quarrels we're going to have to patch them up quickly. Because the world we are now living in is not a safe one. And because Harry, my best friend, the fifteen-year-old boy sitting across from me and sorting through the cards from his Chocolate Frogs, is the prime target of the great Dark Wizard and his followers.  
  
And the only way the three of us will see this through is if we do it together.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
Back to school. I'm enthused… I mean, yeah, it's probably better than home right now, and yeah, I've been bored silly half the time, but still… it's school. And that means work and classes and more work and then exams before we eventually get holidays again. She's actually got me worried about the O.W.L.s a whole school year before we take them. That's quite impressive.  
  
Ah, but it's hard to keep worrying when there's enough chocolate in front of you to drown in. And yes, Harry did pay for it all; but he couldn't possibly eat it all himself, and if he tried he'd probably throw up, so you see I'm doing him a favour here… Yeah right. That nearly fooled me first time, but not any more. It pleases him, though. Little enough does.  
  
What else pleases Harry? Winning at Quidditch – well, I'm sure that can be arranged. We've got the best Seeker in the school, for starters, and the Beaters aren't half-bad either. And maybe he'll sleep a little better if he's physically exhausted. That's one. Getting one over on the Slytherins is another, though that might not be wise this year. Since half of them have Death-Eater parents and all. If they complain to Daddy, who knows where it might end up? Maybe we should just ignore them this year. I suppose that would get on their nerves just as much; and the beauty of it is, nobody could say we'd done anything. He likes… I don't know, what else? Seeing Hagrid – we can visit, no problem. Um, letters from Sirius, but there's not much I can do about that. Quiet evenings in the common room. Maintaining his beloved Firebolt. Dobby! We can pay a visit to Dobby in the kitchens; you can't help but cheer up around him. For the same (but opposite) reason, we will avoid Moaning Myrtle – even though that's nasty and she's legitimately upset (but couldn't she have got over it by now? Fifty years, come on…)  
  
There's not enough words between the three of us to keep us talking from the station to the school. Over the past few days, we've exchanged news, and speculated about the coming year both school-related and other-related, and we've chatted mindlessly and talked seriously and now we've just run dry.  
  
We haven't dared to talk too far ahead for fear of jinxing it. But my mind keeps running on, anyway. When I was younger, I always wanted to be a Quidditch player. Now, besides the fact that I'm probably not good enough, I guess I've had my eyes opened. There are other jobs out there – things that make a difference. Like maybe I'll become an Auror. Or even following Dad into the Ministry wouldn't be too bad – depending on the department, of course.  
  
It doesn't seem possible, though, any of it. And to get that far, first I have to survive my last three years of school. And for me, that's literal.  
  
I will, though. I have the best friends anyone could ask for, and they're stubborn enough that they plain won't let me die. And I'll do the same for them.  
  
We'll be all right.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
We changed into our robes, and being dressed in uniform has made me realise that it really is the start of a new school year. And I'm fairly sure I won't be turned away at the castle door.  
  
It's going to be hard, though, going back. And the more people that are convinced Voldemort's back, the more attention I'm going to get. After all, I've defeated him once before, and we seem to have this big mystical connection – it's only natural to assume…  
  
I'm going to ignore them – it's the only way to deal with it.  
  
Neville popped his head round the door about ten minutes ago – kind of a "hello, how are you, glad to see you back". I think he's about the sixth person to do so, but luckily enough they've all been friendly faces. Maybe we taught Malfoy and his drones a lesson last time. That was entertaining.  
  
Since the minute I re-entered the wizarding world, it's just felt like everyone's eyes are on me. I'm so restricted in what I do and say, because they're watching and people could get hurt because of it. And sometimes I just feel so claustrophobic.  
  
I think some time with my Firebolt should help. You can't fly properly if you don't concentrate; and if you're concentrating on flying then you can't think about all the other stuff. Like, gee, all the dark wizards who want me dead.  
  
It seems a little more hopeful in the daytime. And the Express is safe enough – I suppose. The Dementor only got on because it was allowed to. That was a really stupid thing for them to do, though. It was totally pointless, and it left people scared for ages. Thank goodness Professor Lupin was here. Sirius told me, in one of his letters, that seeing as the man had been one of my parents' best friends, I was both entitled and expected to use his name. I might. But only if there's nobody else around. And they'll probably have to push me into it.  
  
My Patronus is a stag. It's like a connection to my father that I didn't know I had. It's like, in a way, he'll always be around protecting me.  
  
Oh, I'm tired. At the moment, I'm slightly hyped up on sugar, but behind that I'm so damn tired. I'm tired from not sleeping, and I'm tired from being scared all the time, and I'm tired of everything that's going on. I wish it was just over, one way or the other. I don't particularly care which.  
  
That's not entirely true. I want my friends to be all right. So I guess that means I have to win. Some days that's the only thing that keeps me fighting – the thought that they need me to. It's arrogant of me, I'm sure, and they'd probably get on well enough without me, and I don't presume to think I'm the only person holding Voldemort back; but…  
  
My friends need me alive. And I need them alive. Not to fight the war, not to protect me or look after me or do anything for me. Simply because they are my friends. And I love them.  
  
Harry, Hermione and Ron. We're so different, one from the other, and yet we fit so well. We work as a team. If we three are together then we will overcome anything. A triumvirate invincible – me and my friends. 


	6. First Night

A/N OK, I lied. I was planning on leaving it there, because I didn't want to get into what happens in their fifth year (because I can't really think what would), but Ron started talking to me… And it seems to be getting more depressing, which is also not according to plan.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
I'm glad today's over. Maybe we can settle into a routine, now. Plentiful work and a strict regime do wonders to fill the mind and calm the spirit.  
  
Oh, I was boiling mad earlier. And Ron didn't even blink! Malfoy wandered over at the end of the Feast for the ritual exchange of snide remarks. Predictably enough, he addressed them to Harry but insulted all of us. "New boy" was in there, as was "Mudblood girlfriend" – I can't believe they're still harping on that when they know it's a crock – and an insult about Ron's family and their finances. Harry glared but said nothing – he's doing that more often, lately – and I snapped back – something to do with his lack of manners, meanness of spirit and lack of height – but Ron just stood there. Stood there, looked at him, looked away, and walked on by. And when I tried to talk to him about it he just changed the subject.  
  
It might take a little while to get to know them properly again. It's only been a couple of months, and yet… The past few days we were still somewhat insulated, concerned only with each other. Now we're in a larger world, and on today's observations the boys are not dealing with it the way I would expect them to. I'm confused.  
  
On the other hand, my roommates haven't changed a bit. Parvati and Lavender are gossiping away, despite the fact they've been in touch all through the summer. The topic of the moment appears to be boys. Unbelievable, the way they get so worked up. I am friends with boys and they're just not that exciting. Not that they're boring, they just… Oh, I know what I mean! But I don't really understand the way they're talking. I dated Viktor; and while it was pleasant enough, it wasn't anything to lose sleep over.  
  
I suppose it's a better thing to lose sleep over than some.  
  
I'm disappointed in Ron. I suppose I always felt a little flattered by the way he would jump to my defence. And he didn't. I thought he cared! I thought maybe he… well, maybe he cared as more than just a friend. I don't know if that would be a good thing. I'm not at all sure whether I want him to. But apparently he doesn't, so I don't need to worry about it.  
  
I'm glad to be back, whatever happens. But not everyone is glad, and some people aren't back. The tables were definitely smaller. And the Sorting didn't take as long this year, though I suppose it could just be a small year. I doubt it. I heard some of the first years talking, though, and it looks like the Muggle-borns are here. I suppose the threat from Voldemort is distant enough that they can't justify not accepting them, but close enough that some of the wizarding families have kept their children at home. I wonder what that would be like: learning from your parents. Or a tutor, I suppose, but… It would be very odd, being taught by the same person for all your classes. Not having anyone else asking questions. Very odd. And not having friends around would be just awful. An only child, with parents teaching you because they're scared to let you out of their sight – it would be suffocating. I'm lucky that can't happen to me.  
  
They could have kept me at home, though. I noticed a couple of people missing that I'm fairly sure are from non-wizarding families. They're probably staying at home and trying to learn from the set books. Unless… unless something's happened to them. God, I hope not. I'd have heard, surely? I'd have heard if something had happened to someone I know. They've just been kept at home, that's all. Please let that be all.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
I really have to get to sleep. I need a good eight hours if I'm going to stay awake through classes tomorrow – they'll be even more boring than usual, I expect, 'cause we'll be sorting out seating and stuff like that for the rest of the year. So I need my sleep. Of course, if I'm just going to get woken up again by the screaming…  
  
He says that's the only time it's been that bad, and it was probably because he was coming back – but if the thought of coming back does that, then what's it going to do actually being back?  
  
And thinking about what's going on with Harry is really going to help me get to sleep.  
  
I should just pretend I'm sitting in History of Magic. I can sleep there no problem. But I only get an hour, and the desks aren't all that comfortable.  
  
My bed is comfortable. I am tired. Therefore I will sleep. I will not lie awake thinking about things I cannot change i.e. the inside of my friends' heads; whatever Voldemort is planning; the detentions Snape is going to give me; the amazing blinkers Percy seems to have acquired; the fact that my little sister still has nightmares about something that happened two years ago. I knew she had them for a while, but I thought they'd stopped. She said it was just coming back had triggered them again, and it was probably a one-off, but… Coming back to school isn't supposed to be like this. It's supposed to be a mixture of excitement at seeing your friends again and disappointment at the end of the holidays. It shouldn't be fear.  
  
This place is a lot of different things to people. To me it's history. Weasleys have been Gryffindors since way back, so there's who-knows-how- many ancestors of mine have slept in this very room. It gets a bit overwhelming. It's hard to feel significant with all that lot behind you – but then again, look what being significant has done to Harry. Maybe it's better to be a nobody.  
  
There's a shadow over Hogwarts, and it worries me. Through all the disasters – natural and man-made – that have been thrown at it, Hogwarts has stood firm. It's been the last stronghold of the Light more than once. It just… This time, it feels vulnerable. I can't explain why, but it does. It's probably just me being paranoid. I really hope it is.  
  
Half the Slytherins have gone off to Durmstrang – well, maybe ten. But Malfoy and his goons are still here, unfortunately. At dinner, he…  
  
I am surprised that he's still here, but I guess since his father's one of the Governors… He can look out for his boy better here. He has an excuse to keep an eye on Dumbledore. I bet the little sleaze tells Daddy everything that goes on around here. A spy in this place is more important than yet another guarantee of Malfoy Junior turning out a Death-Eater.  
  
I did what I said I would and ignored him at the Feast. Harry was confused and Hermione looked… hurt? It took one hell of an effort, the things he said; but I'm not going to give him the satisfaction of seeing me lose it, the vicious little… I'm not going to.  
  
I guess I should have told my friends that.  
  
He called her Harry's girlfriend. Everyone seems to think that. And I know it's a load of rubbish, but… It gets to me. Yes, they are my two best friends, and if anything happened between them I really ought to be happy for them and I would definitely tell them I was – but I'd probably be lying. Because if they were, then I'd be the third wheel and more useless than ever. And anyway, the two of them together? It just seems wrong. I mean, whose bed did she wake up in this morning?  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
I'm scared to go to sleep.  
  
I'm a Gryffindor. I'm not supposed to be scared.  
  
Correction: I'm supposed to be brave - to be scared and do it anyway.  
  
But honestly, what am I supposed to do? Sing myself a lullaby? I don't remember any. And counting sheep never worked for me before. But I don't mind being awake. The darkness, the quiet… It gives me time to think. Time to remember. Who am I kidding?  
  
I hate being awake. I would sleep forever if I didn't have to dream.  
  
I should have bought some sleeping pills over the summer. I didn't even think of it. I was too busy wallowing in guilt and self-pity. Now I'm going to have to wait until the first Hogsmeade weekend so I can get the wizarding equivalent. If there is one…  
  
A weekend, I mean, not an equivalent. (There will be one of them, surely. Everyone has trouble sleeping sometimes, right?) With Voldemort gaining power again, it might make sense to keep us all within school grounds. But what are secret passages and an Invisibility Cloak for, hmm? It would be betraying Dumbledore's trust, but…  
  
He told everyone at the Feast – again – that Voldemort is back and is gaining in power. At least he didn't point to me as a shining example – of a pawn! I know he has plans and I've wondered about them often enough and talked to the others too – I just wish he would give me some clue of what I'm expected to do, here! Whatever it is, it's a few years away, at least. I hope. I truly do hope. I'm being shaped up, groomed to face Voldemort – to defeat him, they think – and I hope the process is done by the time that day comes. The state I'm in now – I'd probably have done better in first year. I did do better in first year. I was probably at my peak for the Third Task, though.  
  
When Cedric was killed, just for a second, I was glad it wasn't me. And sometimes I wish he'd been ignoble enough to take the damn Cup for himself. He'd still be dead, but Voldemort wouldn't be back as much as he is. But nobody would believe he was back at all. And nobody would be preparing to fight him.  
  
He would have found me sooner or later, I'm sure.  
  
Cho was at the Feast. She's still pretty, of course, but I can't feel the same way about her any more. It would never work anyway – it would feel like we were betraying Cedric's memory. And she's older than me, and I'm a mess, and anyone who comes near me ends up hurt so it's just not worth it.  
  
If all this was over; if I wasn't a target; if none of this mattered – I don't know. I'd like someone to love. But my personal comfort is totally outweighed by the risk to them. And I wouldn't be much good as a boyfriend anyway – selfish and inconsiderate and inattentive… Oh well. Not like I have a mother nagging me about these things.  
  
I'm going to sleep. I am. I'm going to have good dreams, for the first time in months. I'll dream that my parents didn't die, for starters. I'll dream that… No, I won't. It'll be the normal ones. I may not be as smart as Hermione, but I'm not stupid. I'm not going to keep torturing myself with unrealistic hopes. Really, I'm not.  
  
That may be an unrealistic hope in and of itself. 


	7. Favourite Places

Oh, my lovely library… I missed it so. Technically speaking, it's Madam Pince's library, but I've been through it thoroughly and I spend so much of my free time here that it must come as no surprise that I feel somewhat possessive. There's a certain seat that I normally take to work in. It's midway along the long side of the table two from the corner. There are enough stacks around that it's not too public; it's deep enough in the library and far enough away from the 'popular' section that it's relatively quiet; the light is at just the level I prefer; the books I need most often are relatively nearby (though I must admit I would sometimes prefer it to be otherwise – it would give me an excuse to go on little walks and browse through the stacks. Not that I don't do that anyway.) I sit facing towards the door, because the events of the past four years have taught me "constant vigilance" far more effectively than Professor Moody-that-was- really-Crouch. He was a fairly decent Professor, though – surprisingly enough, since he was a Death-Eater in disguise. Professor Lupin was better, of course – and I'm not just saying that out of bias because he was one of the best friends of the parents of one of my best friends and is now fighting to protect said best friend and defeat the Dark Wizard who was responsible for the death of said parents among many, many others. I'm also saying that because he genuinely was a good teacher and he is a good, decent person. So the worst of our DADA professors – hmm. Lockhart was fairly useless, though not actually evil – just a selfish idiot. Quirell was also fairly useless and harbouring Voldemort. Moody, who was reasonable, turned out not to be Moody; and Lupin, who was good, is a werewolf. The new one seems to be reasonable, but he's lacking a certain – empathy, I think – that Remus had. Another retired Auror, and apparently he is who he claims to be – Jeremiah Faber. Only one class from him thus far, but he talked to us about various methods of protection and says he'll teach us all of them. Tomorrow, however, we find out Ten Fool-Proof Ways to Spot a Death-Eater. I just don't like the man! I respect him for his work and everything he's done and what he's doing for us and all of that, but… He's a good choice.  
  
Oddly enough, Professor Snape seems to respect him too – there was a visible lack of hostility towards Faber. There was a lack of much emotion at all. He sneered at Harry as per usual; but there didn't seem to be much behind that. He seemed… depressed, I think. With everything that's going on, that's hardly surprising.  
  
Harry went to see the Headmaster, the night after we came back, and he seems more peaceful now. And he brought us back a little information. We find out so many things that we're not supposed to know – but I'm not sure if it's a good thing. I think in this case ignorance would be bliss. But Dumbledore's right – we have to know.  
  
Hagrid's mission to the giants didn't go well – apparently they're about as tolerant of half-bloods as the Slytherins are. But it looks like not many of them will put aside enough of their distrust to join with Voldemort (even when they're sure of his return) so that's something of a relief. It's better to have them neutral than fighting against us. Of course, it would be better still if they fought with us.  
  
Neutrality sucks! They should just decide what they're going to do and then do it. And they should decide to help us.  
  
It just makes me wonder how many other races are out there, hiding behind neutrality in distant mountains and secluded valleys. I mean, I've read about a lot of them, but some things I just don't know, and it's so frustrating because I would know more about these things if I'd grown up in the wizarding world, and when I make mistakes Ron starts acting all superior and ohh!  
  
And Ron's a whole other set of frustrations. That I'm not going to think about.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
There's a place near the lake that I like to go. It's fairly well-hidden by the trees, but you can see the water, and there are a couple of nice big rocks to sit on. It's probably a prime snogging spot in the evenings. But I've never seen anyone else there. I can sit and get some thinking done in private. I can even cry there if I have to. I hate crying. I'm not supposed to cry. Oh, I know, boys cry too, it's not a sign of weakness, all that stuff. I'm just not supposed to. And I hardly ever do. But this is one of the safe places. Along with my bed at home and my bed here; but I have to be sure to keep quiet so nobody hears me. Not that I've done it more than a few times, and that's generally after nightmares and what-have-you.  
  
I saw Harry trying not to cry after the Tournament. He tried to stop it, tried to hide it 'cause boys just don't do that sort of thing. But I think it was me he minded seeing him, and not any of the others, because I'm his best male friend and you just don't do that. It's OK to cry in front of a female friend and a mother and other sympathetic adults, but you can't break down like that in front of your best friend who has relied on you for four years to save his skin and occasionally his life.  
  
Next thing you know I'll be "sharing" my feelings. Oh, I think not.  
  
And anyway, how am I supposed to talk about them when I'm not even sure what they are? I mean… I don't get it. But I kind of sort of maybe understand what's happening with some other people. Like maybe possibly Hermione likes me. As in likes me. Which is weird and wrong and makes me feel good but can't possibly be true. Because look at me. I'm Ron. Youngest of six boys etc etc and why doesn't she like Harry? They're friends too! I suppose she didn't grow up hearing about him (like some people I could mention) but even without all that he's still stronger and braver and nicer and calmer and generally a better person than me. And then there's the international Quidditch player who is apparently "just a friend" and surprisingly enough the way she says it does convince me.  
  
Faber – the new DADA Prof – doesn't. I'm just not sure about him. Oldish ex- Auror, that's pretty cool, but… Hermione's defending him like she always does, but at least she doesn't have a crush on this one.  
  
Snape didn't yell at us. I'm confused. It's one of the constants of this place: there will be a new Professor for Defence Against Dark Arts; Professor Trelawney will predict horrible death for Harry; Neville will forget the password to Gryffindor Tower; Snape will yell.  
  
Neville's actually managed to remember so far, so he's been in and out of the common room without hindrance. But who knows how long it will last?  
  
The common room feels like home. People all over the place, people doing all sorts of things, people talking and laughing. Hell, half my family's here. It's bigger and plusher and the view's bloody amazing but it reminds me of home. Even down to the arguments. It must not be fun for Mum, stuck between Dad and Percy without even us to distract them any more. I should try and write more this year – keep her updated. Though it's entirely possible, when it comes to Voldemort, that she knows more than I do. I find it hard to believe she would happily sit at home twiddling her thumbs while her family is in danger – she's like a mother bear, or something, and she'll defend us with everything she has.  
  
That's a comforting thought.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
Quidditch practices start on Tuesday. I can't wait… I love flying just for the sake of it, but when you've learned to fly and strategise a game; at the same time, you find that flying solo leaves a whole lot of brain free to ramble. My brain isn't being quite as poisonous at the moment, though, so…  
  
I went to see Dumbledore. He asked about the nightmares, though I've been keeping him updated. Some. The ones that are visions instead of just watching everyone I've ever cared about being horrifically killed. He advised me to go to Madam Pomfrey for a Dreamless Sleep Potion, but told me it was only a temporary solution. A night or two of decent sleep can't help but make you feel better though. Some of the news he gave me wasn't very good: the giants aren't much use; the Ministry as a whole is still being stubbornly idiotic; the attacks are on the increase; the Aurors are woefully unprepared, most of them – though that's being sorted. There were some bits of good news, but it's hard to pay attention to them. The fact that Crabbe the elder got arrested (I was wondering why the son wasn't looking at people) pales when told that Malfoy Senior is still out there wreaking his own endearing brand of havoc. It's odd, how the generations seem to parallel each other so precisely…  
  
Dive. Pull out so early it could barely be described as a Feint. Spiral up. Loop. Dive again. Keep diving. Keep diving. Fight for control on the pull- up two feet from the surface of the lake – hey, not stupid here. Make self reconsider that assessment as have vivid image of looping the loop and dropping off the broom at the top to twist and land on it again at the bottom – and actually think about trying it. Hmm. I could always just go for a swim.  
  
I really don't think so. I'm still a stupid prat and I have no need of moral fibre. I may well have to compromise myself in the future.  
  
What else am I going to have to lose? My parents, my childhood, my chance at love, my conscience, my life? It's not fair!  
  
Though I could have love, I think, if that person was in danger already. I would say Hermione, but Ron would beat me up and I really do think of her simply as a friend. The only others in as much danger because of me are the Weasleys – I'm just not going to start on Sirius and "the old crowd" because… well, I'm looking for a teenage girl here! So that means Ginny.  
  
Ginny. Younger sister, to some extent – but not so much that it would feel incestuous, just enough that I feel protective and stuff already. The massive crush she used to have on me was embarrassing at the time, but it makes me think I've got a reasonable chance with her. And she is undeniably pretty, with that long red hair and… What colour are her eyes? I'm sure I should know. I'm not sure what colour my best friends' eyes are, though, and I've known them longer and better. I'm sure, however, they could each inform me.  
  
I heard somewhere that looking into the eyes of the person you're speaking to conveys sincerity, but I've never been comfortable with it. In my experience, if you keep your head down and you make sure not to make eye contact, you might get lucky enough to be ignored. It was never likely with me, since Duddykins was brought up to despise me in particular – but sometimes it worked for the others.  
  
I envied them.  
  
But look at me now! No longer a victim of bullies (if you ignore Malfoy according to Ron's plan – he could have and should have told us, because it makes sense and the reasons go for us as well as for him) but the most famous boy in my world. Huh. Different type of unwanted attention.  
  
I'm such a lucky child. 


	8. It happens...

Parvati was called out of class today. She hasn't come back. I looked over at the Ravenclaw table and Padma wasn't there. I think something must have happened to their parents.  
  
This is real, now. It's here. I know there have been attacks all through the summer but these are the first ones that I really have a connection to. I've never met them, and it's not like Parvati's my best friend or even close, but it… It's hitting close to home.  
  
Oh, I could be wrong, it could be something completely different, but I just have this feeling that they were called away to be told that their parents are dead. I haven't heard any rumours that could explain it. Maybe Padma had an accident and they called Parvati out of class to keep her company in the Hospital Wing. That would be better.  
  
What kind of parents give identical twins names that start with the same letter? I mean, really, I can understand them wanting to have names that are connected, but surely it would be easier for letters and such if they had different initials at least.  
  
Oh lord, they could have been killed by Death-Eaters and here I am, criticising them for an inability to choose names.  
  
No, they're fine, it was just an accident… Because thinking positive right now is really going to change what happened. And, to be honest, it doesn't really affect me, apart from the fact that I share a room with one of their daughters.  
  
It was a shame she missed the rest of Potions – not because of the class, really, but because Pansy Parkinson (and yet more Ps!) spilled a whole jar of… something, it looked like newt's eyes, but I couldn't be sure… into Malfoy's cauldron and totally messed up his potion. It turned pink and started sputtering, which was quite amusing. More amusing was the fact that Malfoy had to go back and do it all over again, and he couldn't even blame us. He wanted to, but there was no way we could have done it. And Pansy confessed. I think, from the stuttering and blushing, dear Pansy was a little distracted at the time by the vision of manhood whose day she ruined.  
  
It reminded me of the way Ginny used to be around Harry – thank goodness we never had to share a class with her or there's no way we would have managed to do anything. And her marks would have been nowhere near as good as they are. She's quite smart, really – she does well in class because she actually pays attention, unlike some people. I think all the Weasleys are intelligent; they just have a tendency to hide it. I mean, there's no way Fred and George could pull off half the tricks they do if they didn't have reasonable brains beneath those ginger mops, and the same goes for Ron and his chess.  
  
Ron seems to have got a hold on the Weasley temper, now, with the way he's been ignoring the Slytherins – I have to admit I'm a little embarrassed I didn't think of it that way, but it's hard for me to connect what happens here to what happens in the real world. I guess sometimes I still feel like I'm living in a fairytale.  
  
Anyway, I think my intelligence is more related to book-learning than to actually dealing with events and people – like chess, I suppose. I can read every book there is on the subject, and I can appreciate a well-played game, but I just don't have the gift for strategy that will allow me to play well myself. The gift that Ron has. That's not all there is to him, of course, but sometimes it's all people can see that he's good at. They don't notice how kind and brave and funny he is, not to mention smart and loyal and caring and cute…  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
The Patils are dead. Which is odd, because they were pure-bloods, but… The news came through to us just a few minutes ago, but I guess it must have happened last night because they pulled Parvati out of class this morning. It's easier to attack at night, anyway, because the victims are generally asleep. And then people wake up to see a Dark Mark hanging over their neighbour's house… Makes a great visual for the papers.  
  
This doesn't really change anything, it's another in a series of attacks. True, I'll be around someone directly affected by it for the rest of school, but it's not really any closer to me than when Charlie's friend Karina got killed. He moped around for a couple of weeks then back he went to Romania to lose himself with his dragons. Yes, it affected me but only to the extent that I had to be careful around him and I thought about death more often than I normally would. But none of it's touched me yet.  
  
Harry's being quiet about it, but I think he's added them to his internal list of "people who died because of me" which is a load of bullshit. And I can understand Cedric being there, from what he's told me about the Portkey and the argument they had – not that I'm blaming him because none of it is his fault and I wish I could convince him of that – but just about everyone else is dead because of something they did or were that upset Voldemort. Not that it's their fault either, it's Voldemort's because he's an evil SOB who wants to kill off everyone without an impeccable pedigree, or everyone who annoys him, or everyone who's not quite good enough for him. Well sorry pal, but the mediocre masses will rise up and take you down.  
  
Or wait, we won't, it'll be the brilliant ones. It'll be Dumbledore and Harry and whoever else and they will destroy Voldemort; probably using Unforgivables in the process and helping to prove his propaganda about a chosen few pure-bloods being better than everybody else.  
  
Excuse my issues.  
  
But honestly, it's ridiculous because the smartest witch I know was born to Muggle parents, and Harry's mum was the same, and… Hermione is just wonderful, though. She works too hard and she's far too uptight about absolutely everything but she's bloody fantastic at the same time. And I don't think she knows yet. She went off to the library a little while ago and she had an inkling, I'm sure, but you don't talk about things like that until you're sure and you've been told just in case you jinx it all. And now we've been told. I should go and find her, let her know, let her cry on my shoulder if she feels the need… I don't know where that came from. She's not the crying sort. And she wouldn't want my shoulder anyway. I don't think.  
  
I might let her work a bit longer, because it's impossible to concentrate when you're thinking about stuff like this and if she can't work then she'll get annoyed. And when she gets annoyed I have to deal with it. Don't do very well with it, 'cause I normally just get annoyed right back at her, so then she stops speaking to me. Maybe I should wait until she comes back. But then she might be told by somebody else and then she won't just be annoyed about not being able to work, she'll be annoyed at me for letting her be told by somebody else. And she'll want to know as soon as possible just because she always wants to know stuff and she's always scared of getting left out so…  
  
I'll go tell her.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
The common room's quiet tonight. One of our own has been bereaved. It's not as bad as it would be if she had died, so… I can't imagine what it was like in the Hufflepuff common room after the Third Task. Of course, I don't know what it was like here, then, because I was busily passed out in the Hospital Wing.  
  
I don't know if I can stand it.  
  
Ron's off to comfort his other best friend. Girls are easier to deal with in this, I think, because they cry and you give them a hankie and there you go, it's all right again. I know, it's never as simple as that. But with a guy i.e. me, you can slap him on the back and suggest a game of something to take his mind off it, and if he refuses then all you can do is sit there in silence until you think of a good excuse to leave. I don't blame him and it's a damn good excuse that he has, but still…  
  
Great, now I'm jealous of Hermione for getting attention. I do not want attention of any kind, I've had enough to last me three lifetimes already. Who am I kidding? I want that kind of attention. I don't want the "Harry Potter you defeated the Dark Lord you're so wonderful can I take your picture?" Or the "Look at him he thinks he's so special he thinks he's a hero he's nothing at all". I want "Harry I like you I'm concerned about you you're an OK guy maybe". I want… I want love. Who doesn't? I have more now than I used to and I'm still not satisfied because nothing's ever good enough for hero Harry Potter.  
  
I'm not going to think about it. I'm going to sit here and work. But I'm not doing Divination because that's her subject, and I'm not doing Potions because she got called out during that… History of Magic it is. If I can settle my mind to it.  
  
Hmm. OK. Doing an essay might be a bit ambitious at the moment, but I'm sure I can sort out my notes or something like that. Or maybe I'll just stare around the room some more. Representatives of every year, because this is the only place that's warm and comfortable and safe from other people except the dorms and sometimes you just want out of there. I think Dean's up there at the moment to get some time to himself – not sure though. I can't keep tabs on everyone.  
  
I keep an eye on my special friends, though. Ron's with Hermione, Sirius is with Professor Lupin – as far as I know. I can't help thinking they don't tell me everything. In fact, I don't think they tell me a tenth of what they do – but that's probably a good thing. I worry well enough with my nebulous fears; it would be a whole lot worse if I knew they were out there in the thick of it. I can tell myself that I'm being ridiculous and they're probably sitting in front of the fire drinking tea.  
  
I'm alone. I don't have to be, I could join a few of the groups here, but I don't really want to. It's easier to stay alone than to try to join some people and then be expected to talk. And I'm trying to work anyway, remember?  
  
The only person here, honestly, that I would like to sit with – that I can even consider talking to – is Ginny. She's looked in my direction more than once. I'm sure she would come over if I asked her to. I might. I would wait for her to come over to me, but I don't think she would because she's still embarrassed about the crush she had on me. And of course she's not alone. She's sitting in a group with a few other fourth-years, though she's not entirely part of it from what I've seen. She's more a tag-along than an integral part of the gang. So they wouldn't mind, I'm sure, if I walked over there and sat next to her and talked to her. But if I did, they might try to talk to me as well and I don't want that. Hmm.  
  
Next time she looks at me, I'll wave her to come over. She can ignore it if she wants to. Or she can come sit by me. Either would work.  
  
Next time she looks. 


	9. September 19th

A/N Wow, over twenty reviews, I feel so special… Thanks for the encouragement, especially SwEeTDrEaMz2414 for the continued support.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
The funeral was yesterday. Parvati came back late on – Padma with her. They shared her bed and cried themselves to sleep.  
  
I feel like I should be trying to help: even though they're not my closest friends and I've never been in that situation. But there's nothing I can do. I hate feeling useless: and that's what I am here.  
  
And it's my birthday.  
  
It's childish, I know, but I always wake up early on my birthday. There's no point to it – no Granger family tradition of leaving presents at the end of the bed. I suppose it simply comes from excitement and anticipation.  
  
I have trouble keeping track of my age. It's very odd. It takes at least until New Year before it sinks in that my age has changed. That… whatever it is… it makes me feel younger and less mature than I am. I know birthdays and chronological ages have very little to do with maturity, but so many things depend on your age – films, voting, licences, marriage… Not that I'm old enough for those yet. I can't imagine being married. Actually, I can barely imagine anything past the end of school, so I suppose it's not surprising that I can't imagine being married.  
  
The wedding itself, of course, has been planned in detail for as long as I can remember. I don't know how it'll cope with my having male best friends, though – somehow I think they wouldn't be too happy with the ball-gowns. Of course, there are ways to get round that – have them involved in a slightly different context.  
  
I want my life to be perfect. But if I can't have that… I don't want to be alone. If it had been my parents – who would be holding me tonight?  
  
We should let them sleep. I'll wake the others, turn off all the alarm clocks, try to be as quiet as possible… I'm sure neither of them have slept well at all since that day. As if it wasn't bad enough that they died, it had to be like that. It had to be splashed across the front page – "Latest Mysterious Attack" when we all know who was responsible, all the comments and opinions: because people are always going to talk about it, and not everyone keeps track of who's standing three feet behind them, and not everyone cares. Slytherins…  
  
Of course, it's possible they're awake behind the curtains; but they won't want to hear us just going on as normal. Their parents were buried yesterday. I guess it must seem like the world should just stop. But it doesn't. And we all go on.  
  
Damn. I just love being the birthday girl.  
  
I can't celebrate today, not with all that's happened. Maybe I should. But then I'll see Parvati with the grief in her eyes, and the black band in her hair, and…  
  
I suppose I could open a present now – the one Dad sent with me. And I should get one from Mum at breakfast, and the boys should give me something as well. Good grief. I'm worrying about how many birthday presents I'm going to get. No mention of the fact that the givers are all in grave danger – or, for that matter, so am I. No thoughts of the fact that we may not make it to my next birthday. Oh, you know what? I'm allowed.  
  
This is my day. So it's going to be a good day. I'm going to make it a good day. I'm not going to worry, I'm not going to think about any of those things, I'm just going to have a good day. OK, yes, I have work to do but I enjoy that, and apart from that I can spend time with my friends and do nice things and just generally have a good day. A happy birthday.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
Something special about today… And don't think I've forgotten. Never going to do that. Ever.  
  
It's her birthday. I would throw her a party if it didn't seem so horrendously inappropriate. Wow, big words. But it would be wrong to have a party when they only buried the Patils yesterday. And anyway, we'd have to draft the house-elves and then she'd start babbling on about slavery and so forth. So, for once, a party is not a good idea. But we can have parties later. We'll all be turning seventeen in a couple of years, that's a big one. And Christmas is better because well be alone here, more or less, with all the people going home. Not that there as many people as there were. It's totally understandable that the parents and such want their kids… oh damn. Parvati and Padma.  
  
I took her to the Yule Ball. I was about the worst date there, and I managed to fight with Hermione as well: so that wasn't the best night of my life. But I went on a date with her – my first date ever, come to think of it, though it hardly counts as one – and now her parents are dead and she can't go home for Christmas. The last Christmas she could have spent with her parents, instead she spent being ignored by her date at a stupid Ball. I feel even worse about it than I did. She's a nice girl. She deserved better than that. Better than me.  
  
I was wondering when I'd get back to the self-pity.  
  
I got her a nice present. I think. I hope. I mean, it's not much, because… damn it, Weasley! But it's pretty and practical, the number of books she has, and I think it works as an ornament even if she doesn't need it as a bookend. Of course, Harry managed to find her yet another book, but it's safe to say she'll appreciate it. It's part of who she is. I wouldn't change her for anything. Except, maybe, I'd stop her being so sad. It's wonderful, the way she feels so much for other people – when she pulls herself out of her books enough to notice – but it doesn't do much for her, now, does it? But I'll be damned if she doesn't let it go today.  
  
Speaking of people with the weight of the world on their shoulders… Harry's worrying me. He's pulling away from us again, for our own good, and I'm worried. It's like every time it's a little harder to get him back, and if this keeps going then maybe one day he'll manage, one day we won't have the energy to keep dragging him back and he'll spiral away into a lonely pit of despair and there won't be anyone to fight by his side when the day comes and he won't even want to fight so he'll just give up and that'll be the end of him. I'm not letting that happen.  
  
It's good that there haven't been any attacks since. I mean, obviously it's good, and it hasn't exactly been a long time, but it's good for him. Because every time someone gets hurt or someone gets killed, he adds a little more to his guilt; and he's still recovering from seeing Parvati stumble into the common room the next day, with her hair down trying to hide her red eyes. And she couldn't even look at him. She hardly looked at any of us – didn't look at me – she just ran right up to her dorm; but because she didn't look at him, he thinks she blames him for it, because everyone blames Harry for everything because he invented the damn Killing Curse, don't you know.  
  
I just worry. About him, about my family, about what's happening, about everybody and everything and I can ignore it most of the time, but every now and then I just can't help thinking about it all.  
  
Today, I can. Today is carefree day. Not a cloud on the horizon for my best girl's birthday. Not if I can help it.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
I'm surprised they didn't attack the funeral party. That would have made a statement. But then, we all know they're evil and heartless – they don't need to prove themselves to anybody.  
  
I can't help but wonder if I'm better off, having lost my parents when I was a baby. How can I miss them when I didn't even know them? I do, but…  
  
It's like I have this image of who they were, and what our family would have been like; but when it gets too bad I can tell myself that it isn't real and it never was and it probably wouldn't have worked out like that anyway. And the pain passes. But if you have memories of how it was, if you had a family and you grew up with that love, then suddenly it was ripped away? There's no way of telling yourself that it doesn't really matter, you can't tell yourself it was a fantasy and try to forget about it. It was there. You had it in your grasp. You held it dear without even noticing. And then it was gone.  
  
I'm not responsible for any of it. For their deaths, for helping the girls through it, for Voldemort, for… for anything. I'm not. I'm a teenage boy. There's no way on earth I could be responsible for that.  
  
It doesn't stop me feeling it. I wish it did. Maybe that way I could sleep without help.  
  
I've been trying a couple of different potions, but the only ones that work happen to be addictive, and I don't need that on top of everything else. Besides, you never know when one of my dreams will turn into Technicolor inside information on the arch-enemy. And it's OK if I only get two hours sleep a night because that gives me a whole six more hours to study. Well, five, but who cares? I just lie in bed working on silencing charms.  
  
It would be most satisfactory if I could cast a silencing charm on somebody else. Malfoy, for example. There's not much I can do to his sneering face without resorting to physical violence, but I could stop his sneering voice… But wait. I'm not allowed to.  
  
Since when was Ron the leader of this little group?  
  
Since he acquired some sense and started making better decisions than either Hermione or I did, that's when. But I suppose we're all leaders in our own way. We certainly have strong enough personalities. In fact, that goes for most of Gryffindor. I'm surprised the tower hasn't exploded from the daily contests of wills. Bravery seems to tip into cocksure headstrong arrogance, more often than not, and that leads to confrontation. It's been more subdued, lately, but it still happens. It seems so petty, though. Squabbling over whose fault it was that we lost ten house points, when one of our own has lost so much more.  
  
Ah, who gives? It's done. Nothing we can do to change it, so we might as well just go on with our lives. It's not like we were the ones called out that day.  
  
I think we all knew, right then. We didn't know how bad it was – didn't know they were dead – but we knew they'd been attacked. And every one of us thanked the Lord that it hadn't been our family, that it hadn't been us on our way to the Headmaster's office. Though I hardly have any family left to lose. And honestly enough, most of my family is here. So if they get attacked, chances are I'll see it happen. And I'll be getting the same treatment.  
  
That's an oddly cheering thought.  
  
Cheering… Oh damn. Nearly forgot again. It's a good thing Ron took me on the present-shopping trip or it would have kept on slipping my mind. God, I'm useless. But then, I don't have as much of a reason to remember as he does. 


	10. Next day

I'm so tired… Last night the four of us stayed up talking until some ridiculous hour and it's in the evening now, so it's understandable. But I don't know how I managed third year. Wait, that's right – I didn't.  
  
The first thing I saw this morning was the book-end Ron gave me. I just opened my eyes and saw this swirl of colour moving and it took me a minute to work out what it was. It was sitting on the table by my bed – I must not have closed the curtain properly last night, but that's not too surprising since to all intents and purposes I changed then passed out. It's got a very solid base – hence bookend – but it's delicate above that. It's charmed, obviously, to move and change colout, but I just wonder where he got it. And how much it cost. I can understand him wanting to buy nice things for his friends but if he can't afford it then we don't want it!  
  
It's very lovely though.  
  
It was nicer talking to him last night. It was easy. It wasn't private, it wasn't exclusive, but it was nice. But of course we all had to take turns pulling Harry out of his bad mood. I felt helpless again. Ginny did well at it, though, so we ended up with a couple on each sofa. It was pleasant. Of course, there were other people there and you can't relax as much – but they all left eventually.  
  
They seem to have given up on herding us to bed, which can only be a good thing. Even if it does lead to yawning through dinner.  
  
I would rather avoid my dorm as long as possible. It's not a cheery place to be. And I am quite happy at the moment. I don't know why.  
  
Oh, I do. I know why. Because he was sweet and he gave me a nice present and he put his arm around me. Because I'm now almost entirely sure he likes me. Because I can just let myself enjoy getting closer to him without getting into scary boyfriend/girlfriend territory. Although that probably won't last long.  
  
It put me in a good mood, seeing his present just as soon as I woke up, and that carried on through breakfast which was nice and relaxed: sitting in out little group, none of us particularly awake or interested in talking, just sitting eating and drinking and thinking and enjoying the companionable almost-silence. After that, even Potions couldn't rob me of my general happiness – though that was helped by the fact that it seems Snape can't be bothered picking on us when he's depressed. It worries me. I don't like seeing anyone in pain, and while he's not my favourite person in the world, he's still a person. And it doesn't look like he has anyone to help him.  
  
Of course, if I tried to help, he'd most likely bite my head off, take thirty points from Gryffindor and give me detention for the rest of the year. So I won't be doing that.  
  
My good mood lasted through dinner, and once I had accepted its continuance, I went up to my dorm for "Jane Eyre" – it seemed to fit. But Parvati was there. Crying.  
  
How dare I be happy when her world is falling to pieces? When the same thing is happening to families throughout the wizarding world? When the same thing is happening to all sorts of people all over the world for all sorts of reasons? How can I presume to say that I am happy, that life is good, that the future is bright? How can I do that?  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
She liked it, she did, she liked it and I spent half of last evening with her sitting right next to me cuddling into my side, and…  
  
I think I might be losing my mind.  
  
Anyway, birthday was good, no party but just being together (as a group) was good and we just sat and talked and what have you, and it looks like Ginny and Harry are friends which is good, and I just can't keep thinking about this.  
  
Mum wrote. She says Percy finally moved out. I know she didn't want him too but she still sounded relieved. But it's just her and Dad now – all of her babies are away, whether they're just at school or totally gone. Must be weird. But then again, I suppose this isn't the first year it's happened. It won't be long until we're all old enough to move out permanently – a couple more years until we're out in the world. Damn, but that's scary.  
  
Of course, it's entirely possible we'll never have to worry about it.  
  
Some days I think I'm turning into Harry. Occasionally, I find myself surprised that I don't have glasses to shove back up my nose, that I look slightly down to see my friend instead of slightly up, that I don't start awake gasping every night, that no-one's really after me… And then I shake myself and tell myself off for being an idiot; because, really, who would want to be him? I suppose I just spend so much time with him that the line between us becomes blurred. Friends, room-mates, brothers… Blurred.  
  
I wonder if he feels it too. I would ask him, but I think it's getting a bit too close to falling under "Emotions" and that's not my job to talk about. Sport, girls and fighting, that's about my limit.  
  
Oh hell, Hermione just dashed through the common room – from dorm to library, I think. She didn't look too happy.  
  
I bet Parvati's crying again. She hasn't cried in public at all, hasn't let ussee a tear-stained face since that day: but she's made a point of staying close to her sister, close enough to touch arms and brush hips and assure each other that yes, we're still here, we're still together, we're twins and that means forever. It's so familiar I gasped the first time I noticed it, and I got a few curious looks; but I paid no attention to them. It's the way Fred knocks by George and George punches lightly back, just put into girl-language – less violent because of that, less practised because they were separated four years ago, more sensual because they're girls and they're not my brothers so I can acknowledge it.  
  
Maybe I should go after her.  
  
I'm quite comfortable here, though, and it's sort of fun to sit here watching the people go by. Or not, as it happens. Dean's been sitting staring out of the window since before I got here. I guess other people worry too. Of course, with him it's as likely to be how well his football team is performing as it is to be about his being a Muggle-born with the times that are coming. Oh, almost everyone in the Tower believes Harry – claims to, at least – but I think most of them are a lot more optimistic about it than we are. It's like I was saying: the lines between us are blurred. So Harry's overwhelming pessimism about the way all of this is going (and can I just say how much that worries me? He's supposed to be our hero and he doesn't believe he can do it, and that really will not help) seems to bleed over into Hermione and I, so we see a bleaker future than most of the people around us.  
  
Hermione. I'll go look for her.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
Professor Dumbledore offered me extra lessons – Defence, mostly.  
  
I don't really have a choice in the matter, do I?  
  
I haven't told the others yet. There hasn't been an appropriate moment. There may never be. I'll have to tell them at some point, because they won't believe any excuses I try to give them and we spend so much time together that they'll notice my absences. So I have to tell them. And the longer I put it off, the worse it'll be, the more conversations where the subject went unraised, the more empty spaces that could have been filled by discussion of this offer and its implications. Two days since he told me, and it's not enough, but my period of grace is practically gone…  
  
I could have told them last night. But it was her birthday, and it was a good day, and I didn't want to bring down any shadows on it. And Ron would have hit me later. The pair of them were sitting there all comfortable and happy, and I didn't want to disturb that by bringing up my future.  
  
That's half the reason I pushed them off me when they took their turns at "Look After the Psychologically-Damaged Friend". I didn't want to disturb their togetherness. The other half is that I couldn't be bothered with the gentleness that they tend to apply when I know that's not the way we are together. I can accept it if I have to, but it's easier not to. I can accept it from other people – Ginny is a case in point. I could just sit there and pretend that the worried, tender expression she had was normal for her when dealing with me, had nothing to do with what's actually happening to me, would apply whether my life was perfect or going to hell in a hand-basket – and for all I know it might. But I haven't spent all that much time with her when my life hasn't been at least half-way bad.  
  
It didn't hurt that she talked easily and freely about random things that basically didn't matter, that she didn't look askance (that I could see) when I laughed and talked about things that didn't matter in the slightest, that when I spaced out for a minute at some unexpected flash of memory she just waited for me to come back then picked up where she left off. It didn't hurt that she's a damn pretty girl when I take the time to look at her.  
  
Well, obviously she's pretty all the time, but I didn't exactly notice before. I was a bit busy being depressed. I still am.  
  
It's not the lessons per se, it's the fact that now even Dumbledore acknowledges that I need them. I freely admit that my future is far from bright, but when the people around me and the people I look up to deny it and tell me things will be OK, I can try to dismiss it as overly- pessimistic. It lightens the load, in a way. But now…  
  
I'm quite looking forward to the lessons. They should be interesting. I just don't want to have to use them. Oh I know, I know, best be prepared and whatever happens will happen whether I take these lessons or not, and they may make the difference between life and death if I do.  
  
And I just said that like I had a choice.  
  
I never have a choice. Ever. I live by expectation and by prophecy instead of by my own free will. I suppose it might be easier this way. 


	11. A Sunday in November.

            Mmm, day off… except it isn't, because I don't get days off, remember? I'm Little Miss Know-It-All who barely has a life outside the library. But I'm not, that's not me. And yes, admittedly a large part of my day so far has been spent in the library, but I wasn't… that is, I didn't have to be because I've caught up on my work for the next week, but I did do some preliminary reading for another project – but, see, that didn't count because it was basic and it was enjoyable and book-worms are allowed to read on their days off. So it was a day off, for me at any rate, and it was most enjoyable and frankly continues to be most enjoyable and should keep on being enjoyable as long as a certain red-head sticks to our pattern. 

But as long as I'm smart I can't be normal and as long as I'm Harry's friend I can't push Voldemort to the back of my mind though I have, somewhat, since Parvati's almost back to normal and there haven't been any attacks in the weeks since. Does that mean I'm not his friend? Oh, don't be ridiculous, of course I'm his friend. Even though we hardly have any free time together any more.

The last time we spent any amount of time as a group was at the Hallowe'en Feast. And admittedly it was only last week, but before that was… well, it was probably my birthday, and that's coming up for two months ago. Really, the only one I've seen is Ron. Maybe I should have asked if I could go to Hogsmeade with Ginny – but I suppose it only takes one person to run an errand. And then there's Harry, always busy with his lessons. 

It must be amazing, learning all that really advanced magic, but I think he's getting a little frustrated by the amount of time it takes. Still, he'll be doing seventh-year work by Christmas, and after that, who knows? Of course he'll have to catch up on all the other stuff at some point, like that essay I'm supposed to help Ron with, but they'll probably be kind and only make him do the necessary stuff. Ron will probably do better in his O.W.L.s than Harry, just because he doesn't have all this other stuff to worry about. It's not that Ron's stupid, or anything; he just doesn't try. Of course, I'll beat both of them.

I know there are a lot of other things to worry about, but I care how well I do at school. I think it's because it's something I can control, something I'm good at, something that depends on me and only on me. It's like a validation of who I am, because it doesn't matter if I'm not pretty and I'm not popular when I'm the one getting the best results. Though I suppose I must technically be popular merely be virtue of being one of Harry Potter's best friends. And Rita Skeeter seemed to think I was pretty – I think the word she used was "stunningly". I wonder how she's doing, lately. Haven't seen anything by her in a while, come to think of it. Poor little bug.

It would be fantastic to be an Animagus. I wonder how hard it really is, seeing as I now know of four unregistered Animagi – though it only really counts as twice since three of them did it together. Perhaps I should ask Professor McGonagall. It could be a useful skill, and if I can argue that school-children have done it before I might be able to persuade her. I wonder what I would be. I think I'd like to be a bird. I see the joy the boys take in flying, but I don't feel it. I'm just not that comfortable with a broom. I can't let go and just fly. If I was a bird – an owl, I think, maybe a barn owl – maybe I could fly free. Maybe I could feel that joy. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Do the words "too damn quiet" mean anything to you? Because it's been almost two months since the last attacks, and they affected us the most so far, and this is by far the longest wait there's been without even a minor attack (and I am fully aware of the irony of that statement when every one of the attacks under the Dark Mark has utilised at least one of the Unforgivables). Not that I'm complaining, or anything, but the first reason I can think of for waiting like this is to build up your forces for a major attack. So I'm worried. And scared. And really irritated because nobody else is seeing this and it's so damn obvious! 

I thought they'd do something for Hallowe'en, I really did. I was reading up on the War twenty years ago, and they liked doing things for events… well, I knew that anyway. But Hallowe'en, in particular, I would expect an attack. Unless Voldemort's superstitious about losing his power again, or something. 

You know what I heard the other day? You know what that bimbo of a third year said? "Oh, maybe they just stopped". Excuse me? Please? That's not how these things work! There are rules for this type of thing, certain points of etiquette. And one of them is that once you start something like this, you see it through to the bitter end, because you don't start something like this at all unless you're committed. So once you've killed, you keep on killing. You can't "just stop"!

Maybe that's the whole problem. 

I just can't stand the waiting. Because that's what this is, I don't doubt it. Even if I'm the only one who seems to see it. 

Oh, maybe I'm wrong. It's not like I know anything, after all. 

I certainly don't understand Hermione. She sits next to me, she snuggles up to me when we're in semi-private: but apart from that, she hasn't changed a bit, so I assume I'm still just her friend. Which is fine by me. But confusing. 

Shouldn't she blush, or something? Shouldn't she be sneaking looks at me, and stammering when I talk to her? Though that would make conversation difficult. Maybe she doesn't like me. I mean, why should she? I'm not much. So, yeah, probably she doesn't like me and she just figures that we're close enough friends that it's OK for her to use me as a cushion. Though if that's the case, why isn't she using Harry. Oh, whoops. Couldn't be comfortable, leaning against those ribs. Mum'll flip next time she sees him, and try to feed him up. 

Of course, I also have a History of Magic essay due in on Monday. Which means a fair amount of time spent with Hermione. Harry, lucky sod that he is, is exempt due to his extra lessons. I don't get why he made such a big deal out of it, taking a week to tell us and all. It's only practical that he gets trained up now. He's not safe. And if he pretends he is… well, he's not and pretending really won't help. So off he'll go to his lessons and here we'll stay together. Waiting. I don't like waiting. 

Honestly, though, for this: I can wait. For his sake. If it's going to make him safer then I'll wait all night if I have to. For the other – hell, I could wait till the end of time. 

I won't wait for her, though. I have to find out, one way or the other. Any day now. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

Things I have learned: the wand is a weapon. Never relinquish your weapon. The wand is a helpmate. Respect your helpmate. The wand is… Hell. The wand is many things. But the wand is nothing without your magic. So you are the weapon and the helpmate and the doctor and everything else. It all comes down to you. 

This is what I have learned. 

Unfortunately, I can't seem to use the damn wand, and I certainly can't use me. And I'm not even on the hard stuff, yet. 

But I'm not supposed to be on the hard stuff. I'm supposed to be sitting in the library with Ron sweating over the essay Hermione finished three days ago. Instead, she finished it five days ago without me around distracting her; he's conned her into helping him; and I have an exemption so I can sit here in Faber's office and wait (and wait and wait) for him to come back from his "urgent errand" to Hogsmeade. Sounds familiar – errand to Hogsmeade. Oh, Ginny and that book for McGonagall. It was lucky I bumped into her, actually. Some Chocolate Frogs should do as a peace-offering for Ron. It's not like I've been around much lately. It's not my fault, and he knows it; and he encouraged me to do them because he's got a fair grasp on the reality of it, and he knows that I will need it. I still feel like I'm abandoning him. He was paying twice as much attention to Hermione even before I started this, though, so maybe I'll just keep the sweets for myself. I suppose I should give some to Ginny… 

The note Faber left said he would try to get back in time, and just to wait because there was no way he would be more than ten minutes late. I got here half-an-hour ago, and I don't know how much longer I'm going to wait. 

I suppose I could practise the breathing exercises he showed me. Sounds a bit weird, but they do help calm me down. Well, not that precisely… um, centre myself, that's it. But then I try to do something and I can't and I get angry and that makes it worse and so I have to go through them all again and feel like even more of an idiot until I snap or he has to leave or it just gets too late to keep going. He never snaps. He's scarily controlled. That's probably why no-one's particularly happy with him as a teacher. It's not human. Well, I'm fairly sure he's human. Maybe I should ask him: you never can be sure in this place. But… yeah. At least, if you're getting yelled at, you know there's some emotion there. 

Hermione says Snape's clinically depressed. Funny, I don't remember her getting a medical degree. I don't really care. He hated my father and he hates my godfather and he hates me. I really don't care about him.

Heroes aren't supposed to hate. 

            I like this room. It's fairly plain, and the basic decoration hasn't changed any of the times I've been here, and the only items Faber has added are a few tools of the Auror trade, but it's nice. It has a good view: over the grounds and out towards Hogsmeade. 

            I spy with my little eye… OK, with my Omnioculars that I shoved in my bag a few days ago so I could… well, spy. Um, anyway, I see: some people wandering around the grounds; a flash of movement out on the lake – I wonder which of the creatures it was that time, it was too fast for me to tell; the Whomping Willow lazily waving its branches; and if I strain my eyes I can almost see…

            Shit. 

            The Dark Mark. 

            Over Hogsmeade. 


	12. Monday

A/N Last chapter. I mean it, this time. I have some thoughts on a sequel but I'll likely be doing non-HP stuff for a little while, to clear my head. Thanks for sticking with me. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Harry told Ron and Ron told me and the pair of us told the Professors while Harry flew off into danger. We didn't realise, at the time, that was his plan, but we really should have. It's fairly typical of him. 

I suppose we were too busy wondering what exactly had happened. And it was important that the Professors be informed, though I have a feeling they received a message from the Aurors around the time we were blurting out our second-hand information, which was vague and practically useless. And then somehow we became errand-boys for the entire staff. Tell Professor Trelawney. Gather the prefects. Get Hagrid. Help round up the young ones. Take this letter to the Owlery. Prepare the house-elves. Cup of tea would be nice while you're at it. 

It's not that I mind being useful – it was worse when I was twiddling my thumbs – but I was split up from Ron and I didn't have a clue where Harry was, and then I remembered where Ginny had been. And I couldn't talk to anyone, because we'd been told to keep it quiet to avoid a panic, because it was unlikely anyone else would notice. Harry blamed it on his connection with Voldemort, says there was a flare in his scar that drew him to look towards Hogsmeade. I think he was just looking for Ginny. 

Thank God it wasn't a Hogsmeade weekend. If the village had been full of Hogwarts students, I doubt many would have survived. I don't know if we would have. And of course Harry would still have been sitting waiting in Faber's office, and if Ron and Ginny and I had all died… It worries me, sometimes, that we have the power to break him. I really think we might. He draws a lot of strength from us, and I think losing that strength would hurt him badly. It's possible it would drive him into a killing rage, but I wouldn't count on it. 

The prefects herded fourth-years and below into their common rooms and changed the passwords on them. The rest of us waited in the Great Hall for news, and to deal with the refugees when they finally came. Night had fallen by the time the first of them arrived. Mostly they were just suffering from cold, exhaustion, shock and grief. I suppose the ones that were seriously injured went straight to the Hospital Wing, if not to an actual hospital. Counter-curses aplenty must have been done on site – unsurprising when you consider the mass of magical talent that must have been present in that village. But then there must have been a similar amount on the other side to cause that much damage. I dread to think what would happen if it came to a pitched battle. 

For most of the people it was a night's shelter before returning to their homes or imposing on relatives. But at my last count, there were seven homeless families, eighteen more elderly dispossessed and three orphans. 

Harry was sitting with them this morning. 

I wanted to cry when I saw. Ron found me huddled in a corner, and he just sat with his arms around me until I quieted. It was oddly comforting, as though despite everything that's happened, we're still the same. And even though he kissed me yesterday, we're still the same together. And we are. Together. And we'll get through this. 

Together. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I'd just gone back to the dorm to fetch another roll of parchment – and I was taking my time about it, trying to work out how to start "that conversation" with Hermione – when Harry burst in, grabbed a couple of things, thrust the Marauder's Map in my hand and told me to tell the Professors that Hogsmeade had been attacked. No "Ron, something's happened", no "I'm sure your baby sister is safe", just "tell McGonagall". Still, the first person I found was Hermione, because I'm pretty well useless alone. I didn't exactly soften it much myself, but I told her the news before I told her what we had to do with it. I didn't say anything about Ginny, but I'm sure she understood why. 

About half of them were congregated in what I assume is the Staff Room, so we headed that way. I should really have noted it down for future reference – Fred and George would probably pay dearly for that information, though I'm surprised they never thought to use the Map for it themselves. I suppose the password will have changed, though. We got in by banging on the wall and yelling at the tops of our voices. They weren't too pleased with us until they heard what we had to say. I had half-expected them to fly straight off to the village, but they sorted us out first. Maybe they have a plan in case something like this happens. Maybe they made it up on the spot. Either way, they gave us both lists of things to do and people to fetch, then tossed us out the door to do them. 

Not a word, not a single solitary word, even though she had to have known that Ginny wasn't back yet, and she was the one that sent my only sister into danger. Not one word. 

Once the door was closed behind us, I lost all reason. I just grabbed Hermione and kissed her. I thought she would curse me. Then I turned and walked away. I made it round the corner unharmed. Totally astonished me. 

It was weird, though, because it was nothing like what I expected – though I didn't think I was expecting anything. But I remember thinking how glad I was that her hair had grown out some, so I could tangle my fingers in the curls. And I definitely want to do it again. And she didn't yell at me next time I saw her, so I'm guessing she wouldn't object. 

Next time I saw her, mind, was two hours spent sitting in the Great Hall waiting for news – any news – not knowing where Ginny was, where Harry was, anything that was happening. Turned out we could have known the first if anyone had actually thought to tell us – her brother and one of her friends, hello? We were sitting there nervous as anything, and Ginny was being fussed over by Madam Pomfrey and attended by the twins!

She says she wasn't lucky. She's alive, isn't she?

We're not going to stay lucky. We can't. It just doesn't work like that. But we dodged it this time. 

It's probably a good thing classes were cancelled today – it's not like many of us could work. I don't think anyone here got much sleep last night. The rumour mill was working overtime in the dorms. Most of the people in the Great Hall had just witnessed the murder of people they knew, if not loved. And this morning they went back home to pick up their lives again. 

Mum wrote. Told me to take care of Ginny. As if I can. 

There were a lot of owls this morning. For a moment they blocked out the light. An awful lot of owls. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

One in ten. They killed one in ten. They literally decimated the village. One in ten. 

Some of them were scattered around the village – in the streets, the shops, the houses. I guess they were the ones that fought back. Faber was just at the end of the path back to the school. They were mostly young adults – twenties, thirties as far as I could tell. The sort that would resist. But there was a heap of bodies in the centre, near where the survivors were held. Ginny said they weeded out a few specific people – Madam Rosmerta was the only one she recognised – and then the ones that had stood up to them the most, caused them the most hassle. I think she was supposed to be one of them. I don't know why they stopped, but I can't begin to describe how glad I am they did. 

Still, twenty makes a fair-sized heap. And right next to it was a crowd of hundreds of people, all trying not to look but you just can't help yourself, and they couldn't move away because they were trapped inside some kind of ward that shimmered green as the light hit it… It seemed wrong, somehow, that they attacked in daylight. An army of… monsters, they said, beings, not human, just a few Death Eaters keeping them in line while they herded everyone to the centre. 

Ginny was lying outside the wards, between the living and the dead. She was so still. But she came to quickly enough, not all that long after I got there – and I was one of the first to arrive after the Mark was sent up. There were some people who lived near enough to see it, and the first wave of Aurors Apparated in about ten seconds after I touched down. It took them three hours to take the wards down, even with all the Professors helping. Except Faber, obviously. 

They evacuated the entire village to Hogwarts. There probably wasn't much point, because it's hardly likely they would attack again straight away – but then they would expect us to expect that. And I suppose it gave the Aurors time to clear up the bodies. God. There were so many of them. And some of them – they just looked like they'd fallen asleep, right then and there, but then there were others splayed on the ground with their eyes… Their eyes open and looking at me, like it was all my fault. Two sacrificed for me wasn't enough? There had to be another one, another two, another fifty? When will it end?

The answer, of course, is that it won't. It won't end until evil is gone, and so it will never truly end. But this part of it will end sometime, when Voldemort is killed. When I kill him. 

It seems that this will be my destiny. I don't want to believe in it, but it feels like I have to. It has a neatness to it, that as a baby I crippled him and as an adult I will kill him. But I'm not an adult, yet. Another two years. Two years until I can kill him. He's not going to wait that long. Why should he? 

Ron and Hermione have been clinging to each other the entire time. It hasn't left much for Ginny, really, since I've been somewhat preoccupied as well. I saw her coming down from the Hospital Wing flanked by the twins, though, so I guess she's OK. She's tougher than she looks. Still, Crucio's no joke – she shouldn't have been trying to help. I'm kind of glad she did, though. Shows she's still her. 

We have to stay true to ourselves. We can't let fear and pain change us, cow us, leave us hiding in our beds waiting for the end to come. We can't. We can't let them win. 


End file.
